


A Cry at the Final Breath

by Novatrocity



Series: Destiel Ficlets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Heavy Angst, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I like writing angst, M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Sad Ending, i hope my soul ascends into another level of fuckery, i like hurting my boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novatrocity/pseuds/Novatrocity
Summary: After a case costs Sam his life, Dean has never really been the same. Castiel does whatever he can to bring back the man he once rebuilt in hell. He hopes to see Dean Winchester's soul glow as brightly as it once had long ago.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel Ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648150
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	A Cry at the Final Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Just angst. Like a lot. Enjoy!

This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just a simple vampire case. This shouldn't be happening at all.

Dean's surroundings flicker in and out of existence as the blood rushes in his ears. All he can think about is Sam. Sam.

His brother is spasming in his arms and Dean can't do anything about it. There's so much blood. God, there's so much. Dean's hasty bandage job isn't gonna cut it. His hands are stained red, and whenever Dean looks over to Sam's face, the eyes staring back barely display a lick of recognition. 

"Stay with me, Sam!" Dean gives him a good shake, hoping that the eyes that fall in and out of focus will show some semblance of understanding.

"It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, little brother," Dean reassures, but to whom, he doesn't know.

Dean doesn't notice it, but his face is wet, and he wouldn't have known had his tears not dampened his brother's flannel. He's barely keeping it together. Whenever Dean tries to keep the blood from flowing, his hands come away red.

His heart drops when Sam stops struggling– his body limp in Dean's arms. His hands start shaking as he reaches for Sam's wrist, looking for a pulse.

Dean's hands come up to Sam's face, and he drops his forehead on top of his brother's.

"Goddamnit. Don't do this to me, Sammy."

Dean's starting to panic now, and he can't stop it. His brother's eyes aren't opening, and he can't feel a pulse.

He starts praying. He's desperate. He can't let his baby brother die. Not now. Not when he still has a life to live. He knows that no God up there is listening to him, but right now he doesn’t care.

For a moment, Dean thinks of calling Cas, but the thought leaves as soon as it had come. Logically, he knows Cas might not be able to help at all. Hell, he could barely even heal a scratch now. Dean knows deep down that he can’t do anything.

Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there. His legs start to feel sore, but he barely pays any attention to anything else that goes on. He doesn’t even lift his head when he hears the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. He can hear footsteps approaching, and a lingering presence over him. Without looking, he already knows who it is.

"Dean-"

"Heal him! You can do it, right? You can fix him, right, Cas?" Dean is frantic and doesn't even let Cas speak a single sentence before he's desperately pulling at the sleeves of his trench coat. Dean’s not even thinking properly anymore. 

"Please," Dean whispers.

Blue eyes meet green. Dean can see the guilt hidden behind those eyes, but he ignores it. He's hanging on by a thread, hoping that it isn't too late.

Cas hesitantly bends down to press two fingers to Sam's forehead, but nothing happens.

When Cas crouches down lower, Dean expects him to try it again, but instead, he puts his arms under Sam and lifts him. He looks up at Dean, and he can see it in those blue eyes– there's nothing he can do. 

A wet laugh wracks through Dean, giving him a full-body shudder. Cas looks like he's about to cry, but Dean doesn't care. He can't look at him right now. He just grabs Sam's lifeless body and cradles him.

He sits like this for a while and imagines that harrowing November years ago when he carried his baby brother out of the house fire. Back then, he carried a new life out of harm's way. Now, years later, he was clutching the limp corpse of his brother in his arms.

This was not fair. This shouldn't have fucking happened. If it was Dean, fine, whatever, but not Sam. Sam didn't deserve this.

When Cas gently pries Sam out of Dean's arms, he's so numb that he doesn't even fight back. He just lets Cas carry Sam away.

Cas starts to walk towards the Impala with Sam's body carried bridal style. Dean's still on his knees on the ground. He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to do anything. He feels so defeated.

He's still staring blankly at the dirt on the ground even when Cas returns to urge Dean into the car.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and normally this would ground him– make him feel better, but now it only deepens the gaping chasm he feels in his chest.

"Dean, we should go now," Cas says softly.

He speaks as if he's afraid that Dean will suddenly put a gun to his head.

Dean wants to respond in anger. He wants to lash out at Cas and scream. It's the only thing he knows how to do when faced with grief, but for once in his pathetic life, he feels the fight leave him.

The sky had darkened a considerable amount since Cas had gotten here and it's starting to get a little chilly, but Dean can barely feel any of it.

“How did you even find us?” Dean grits out. He can still feel Cas’s eyes on his back. A part of him even wants to blame Cas, but Dean stays quiet.

“I felt it,” Cas responds. “Your anguish. I left immediately when I felt you were in danger.”

Somehow this makes Dean feel even worse. He doesn’t respond.

“I heard your prayer. It helped me find where you were.” Cas pauses. “As did your longing.”

Dean doesn’t bother asking him what that even means. He just continues staring at that same patch of dirt near his knees.

Cas crouches in front of him, but Dean doesn't meet his eyes.

"Please, Dean. We should head back now. You'll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer."

Under any other circumstances, Dean would've retorted back and told Cas that he didn’t need to be babied, but he can't find it in him to fuss about it, so he stands up numbly, and walks towards the Impala.

Once Dean gets in, he chances a glance at the back seats. Sam's body is covered by a sheet strewn over him neatly. Dean thinks it's probably for the best that he can't see his brother's face.

Once Cas climbs onto the passenger seat, Dean starts the car without a word. It stays like that for the rest of the ride with Cas staring worriedly at Dean the whole way home.

\-------

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Dean rarely leaves the bunker after Sam's funeral.

Bobby, Jody and even Claire visit him in an attempt to get him to talk, to look at them, to do anything that isn't wallowing in sorrow. 

The empty beer bottles grow in numbers every day, and with each one, the hole inside Dean grows a little bigger.

It still feels a little surreal to Dean. Even now, he sometimes expects to see Sam walking through the Bunker's entrance. 

Death's always seemed like a faraway illusion to them, he'd think that by now he would've gotten used to it. 

Sometimes at night, when Dean would have downed at least five bottles of beer, he'll hear a noise and immediately bolt up. He's foolish to believe it could be Sam, but he hopes anyway. 

It's never Sam.

Cas is always there. Maybe not right next to Dean, but he's always lurking. On many occasions, he'll stand outside Dean's room and just listen. 

He's never felt more useless until now– a wingless angel incapable of even healing a stab wound. He suspects that by the end of the year, it'll be a miracle if he can even power a lightbulb.

He builds a little grave for Sam while Dean is still grieving. It's the least he can do right now and he thinks he chose a nice spot. It's near a lake under a maple tree. It's a beautiful sight.

Dean never visits it.

\------

When Dean finally leaves his room, it's to go on another case. He holds himself differently now– like a broken shell of a man operating on autopilot. Those once vibrant eyes that Castiel always longingly gazed into were now dull and empty. It shakes something in his vessel. Like a bird unable to escape from its cage and take flight.

Castiel is afraid. He's afraid that Dean will do something reckless in his current state. And without his ability to heal like before, he's afraid that Dean will get himself gravely injured and he won't be able to help him.

When Dean finishes packing his duffel bag, he abruptly turns around and looks at Castiel for the first time in a while.

"You comin' on this one?" Dean says. His voice is hoarse, and he sounds more tired than determined.

"Of course, Dean,” Castiel starts, ”but-"

"Good. Then let's go," Dean huffs before turning to walk up the stairs.

Castiel watches as he walks out the door before he follows suit. With Dean the way he is, Castiel can’t afford to leave him alone now.

Ever since Sam's death, Castiel watches Dean like a hawk. Even when the older Winchester locks himself in his room, Castiel always makes sure he can still reach him if anything were to happen

He's already lost one Winchester, he can't lose the other.

\------

Castiel was certainly right to be cautious. Immediately into the first fight, Dean charges in headfirst without any warning or plan. 

If Castiel were human, he would've felt his heart jump 15ft. But instead, he rushes forward, angel blade in hand to make sure no harm comes to Dean.

It's a quick fight. The Djinns were vastly weaker and more disorganized than the usual monsters they'd had to face, but it still doesn't ease Castiel's nerves.

That night, when they return to the bunker, Castiel grabs Dean's wrist before he has the chance to bolt into his room.

"What were you thinking?" Cas stresses. Dean doesn't even bother to look him in the eyes.

"Obviously, I was doing the job," Dean snaps back.

Nowadays, his patience is always worn thin, and whenever Castiel tries to talk to Dean, he feels like he's walking on eggshells.

"And what if you'd gotten hurt? What if we’d miscalculated and there were more monsters than we'd anticipated?" He's speaking to Dean like a mother would her child after causing trouble.

Dean finally looks up and stares Castiel down. The look he gives him is not heartwarming. It does not make his heart flutter, but instead, makes Castiel unfathomably sad.

The man staring back at him is broken and defeated. The once bright soul that Castiel had touched– had cradled in his grasp, was now a distant memory.

"That would've my problem to deal with," Dean mutters back. "and if you don't like it, then don't come with me next time."

Immediately, he turns to walk away.

Castiel doesn't stop him.

There's a faint ache in his chest when he hears the distanced click of Dean's lock.

\------

Castiel is visiting Sam's grave when he feels it. Something is wrong, and he just knows. 

Immediately, he rushes back to the bunker to find Dean's belongings thrown all over the place, as if he'd been in a fight. But when Castiel opens the door to his room, he sees Dean propped against the wall sporting ugly wounds.

Already, Castiel is at his side. Worry spikes throughout his mind as he inspects the injuries inflicted. 

There's blood seeping through Dean's shirt, and Castiel can see the nasty gash near Dean's hip.

Before Castiel can reach forward to stanch the bleeding, Dean flinches away and swats Castiel's hand from near his wound.

"Don't," Dean starts. He's looking at Castiel menacingly as if warning him to back off. "Just leave me alone."

"Dean," Castiel pleads, but Dean is already turning away.

Castiel catches Dean's hand before he's fully out of reach.

"Please," he begs. His eyes convey an infinite amount of sadness, and he wills for Dean to look at him– to give him a sign that the man he pulled out of hell is still there. "Don't push me away. Let me help you. Please, Dean."

Dean reluctantly lifts his head and meets Castiel's eyes. It's not much, but it's a start, and Castiel can feel his heart swell at this small action.

Dean's let's out a sigh of resignation. It's the closest thing Castiel is going to get to an agreement.

He gently grasps Dean's hands and guides him towards the bed.

Once Dean is seated and shows no signs of getting up, Castiel leaves to get a washcloth and the first aid kit.

When he returns, Dean is still seated at the edge of the bed, looking down at his bloodstained hands.

Castiel begins cleaning the blood off of Dean's face with the wet cloth. Dean has gone back to avoiding Castiel's gaze, he forces himself not to feel hurt by it.

Castiel tries to be as gentle as possible, fingers fluttering softly over cuts and bruises. His fingers hover over Dean's cheek longer than he should. Castiel wants to heal him. He wants to press his fingers into Dean's skin and make it all better within a blink of an eye. But he can't, and Castiel's heart clenches at the thought.

Dean is looking at him now, but he looks wary. Castiel holds his gaze and stares longingly into those all too familiar green eyes. It makes him remember the early days– when every time he came to Dean, he could see his soul resonating throughout the universe. He could recognize this man anywhere without hesitation– this beautiful human that he rebuilt piece by piece in hell.

Castiel bends down to clean the wound on Dean's side. He gently yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. He can see the blood splattered all over Dean like a canvas.

As he starts to scrub away at the wounds, Castiel holds back a choke at the back of his throat.

"Why are you doing this?" He whispers. Dean doesn't answer him– just looks away angrily.

"Why are you hurting yourself?" Castiel continues. His voice is pleading and desperate. The silence stretches on.

It's so quiet that Castiel can hear water droplets leaking from the nearby sink. Dean still doesn't answer, and Castiel can feel his heart sink.

His fingers work deftly as he stitches and bandages the injury. There is little protest on Dean's part, just the occasional grunt or wince whenever Castiel makes contact with the wound.

When he's fully finished, Castiel looks up to see Dean staring down at him. He hasn't said a single word so far, but Castiel feels something stir inside him.,

Castiel's hands come up to Dean's face– gingerly cupping him. He can see the anguish within the lines on his face, Castiel wants to make them go away.

Slowly, very slowly, Castiel bends down to place his lips on Dean's. He can feel Dean flinch from underneath him, but he doesn't pull away. The kiss is soft and passionate. Months of sorrow slip through the cracks in an instant from this one intimate gesture. Castiel can feel his dimming grace exploding within his vessel, sensations tingling throughout his entire body. It feels amazing as if he were a fully powered angel again, but it's over too soon.

When Dean pulls away, it's to look down at his hands again. There's an indescribable look on his face as if he's contemplating what had just happened.

Reluctantly, Castiel walks away to grab Dean some fresh clothes. He tosses him a faded AC/DC shirt, which Dean immediately slips into.

Without another word, Dean lies down onto his bed with his back facing Castiel. 

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles under his breath. 

Castiel can see that Dean is tense from where he’s standing. He slowly begins to shuffle closer to the bed, feeling the need to fill the heavy silence.

When the bed dips under Castiel’s weight, Dean does not move away; He takes this as an invitation to stay. Castiel remains seated at his side and brings a hand up to Dean’s shoulder– the exact place where his mark used to be when Castiel rebuilt him.

“Please,” Castiel says. It seems like please is all he can say to Dean now. How long it has been since they had last had a normal conversation, he does not know. “Talk to me, Dean.”

Castiel yearns for that sense of normalcy again. He craves those nightly conversations, the needless movie nights and the peaceful car rides that he had once shared with Dean. He does not want things to stay like this. But deep down, Castiel knows that a part of Dean Winchester died alongside his brother, buried far below the surface, never to be seen again. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean grunts and that seems to be the end of it.

Despite this, Castiel continues talking. If Dean will not speak to him, then he will fill the silence with his own thoughts instead.

“You shouldn’t have gone out alone,” he chastises. Castiel knows that Dean does not want to hear this nor will he listen to him, but Castiel feels the need to say this anyway. 

“Please don’t do this to yourself, you mean too much to me,” Castiel whispers. He’s lying down next to Dean now– his back to Castiel’s chest. 

“Sam wouldn't have wanted this.”

At the mention of his brother, Dean’s breath hitches. He turns around abruptly, facing Castiel with blazing fury.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean seethes through clenched teeth. “We all know it should’ve been me. Sammy didn’t deserve any of this crap and you know it!”

The ache in Castiel’s chest returns, and without thinking, he wraps his arms around Dean.

“Don’t say that,” Castiel says under his breath. “Please don’t say that.”

Dean doesn’t push him away.

“All I had to do was protect him. I had one job and I couldn’t even do it!” Dean is shaking now, from rage or sadness, Castiel does not know, but he pulls him closer to his chest regardless.

Castiel does not know what else to say, so he just embraces Dean as the shaking subsides.

“I’m just tired, Cas,” Dean relents. His face no longer conveys anger, but instead shows exhaustion.

“I know,” Castiel murmurs. “You should get some rest.”

Dean does not say anything else after that.

They spend the rest of the night like this, tight in each other’s embrace.

When Castiel wakes in the morning, the space beside him is cold.

\------

The next few months pass by no differently. If anything, Dean has gotten worse– he sleeps less, drinks more. Castiel does not know how to help him.

He accompanies Dean on as many cases as he can, afraid that if he looks away for too long, Dean will disappear before Castiel can get to him.

It gets to the point where Dean starts to get irritated, snapping at Castiel when he’s hovering around too much, or running off recklessly when he feels too suffocated.

He tells Castiel to lay off him, and to stop constantly following him like a duckling. Castiel reluctantly obeys.

They never talk about the kiss. Dean acts as if nothing had even happened, and Castiel had resigned himself to rarely initiating any more intimate touches. It hurts him inside, but if it makes Dean less uncomfortable, Castiel is willing to oblige.

Nowadays, Castiel tries to give Dean a reasonable amount of space. He’s read somewhere in a self-care book that people need to be alone at times when grieving to heal themselves on their own. So Castiel stays back on a couple of cases in hopes that eventually Dean will open up to him.

\------

It does not get better. It seems now that the gaping chasm between Castiel and Dean has only grown larger. The lasting effects of Sam’s death linger like a skunk’s stench. Castiel doesn’t know what to do at this point, but he still hopes.

When Dean returns from his most recent hunt, Castiel immediately approaches him. The dark circles under Dean’s eyes are more visible than ever now.

“Sit with me?” Castiel asks. He’d already taken out two glasses of whiskey in hopes of making Dean stay.

Dean almost doesn’t acknowledge him. Almost.

There’s still a deep-rooted affection in Dean’s eyes whenever he looks at Castiel. It may be faded and barely noticeable, but it’s there.

Dean slowly sits down next to Castiel and brings the glass to his lips to take a long sip. The kitchen is mostly quiet save for the drinking on Dean’s part. Castiel just watches him. Dean looks more burdened like this. The lines in his features seem to form a constant scowl on Dean’s face more often now.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel breaks the silence. He can hear Dean swallow abruptly. “There was nothing you could have done, Dean.”

Castiel wants to drill it into Dean’s head that he shouldn’t have to carry this pain alone.

“So please, stop doing this to yourself,” Castiel brushes his hand over Dean’s.

There’s still a fire in those green eyes staring back, but the flames don’t appear to be as vicious as before.

“I wish I could take the pain away,” Castiel begins, “but I can’t, so let me in. You don’t have to go through this by yourself, Dean.”

Dean looks away now. Castiel can see him gritting his teeth, and for a second, he’s afraid his words will have meant nothing, but Dean reluctantly turns his head back and stares into Castiel’s eyes.

“Ok,” Dean relents. He sounds tired, but there’s a small acceptance in the way Dean says it.

Castiel smiles. He can see the corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up slightly as well.

For the first time in forever, it feels as though everything will be alright.

\------

They slowly start to slip back into their old routine. One day Castiel suggests they have a movie night just like before. Dean begrudgingly agrees. It’s not much, but they’re getting there.

As the images of Tombstone flash across the screen, Castiel finds that he can’t help but stare at Dean the entire time. His features have softened slightly and it calms Castiel to know that Dean does not seem as upset as before.

They sit together on the couch, but neither of them talks. Surprisingly though, this feels fine. Castiel hardly pays any mind to the movie, and he suspects the same goes for Dean. Castiel risks a small scoot closer. Dean doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t react. Their shoulders are touching now, but it feels right. Castiel had rarely gotten the chance to be around Dean this past month and he intends on changing that.

Even after the movie has ended they don’t move. Dean is staring down at his hands again and Castiel is starting to suspect that something must be bothering him.

“I can’t get it out of my head, man,” Dean grimaces. 

Castiel stares down at where Dean is looking. His hands seem fine, and Castiel hadn’t noticed any injuries, so he stares confusedly back at Dean.

‘What?” Castiel asks. He feels the need to embrace Dean again, but he’s almost certain the action would not be met with a positive response at the moment.

“His blood.” Dean looks up at Castiel. “Sammy’s blood,” he reiterates.

Castiel remains silent. He feels guilty that he doesn’t know how to respond, so he just leans in closer to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He can feel some of the tension start to dissipate from Dean’s body. He hopes that this simple gesture will show Dean that Castiel is here for him.

They return back to their comfortable silence, only now Dean is leaning much closer to Castiel. 

After a moment, they talk. Not about Sam, but of small things– like how the price of beer increased recently, or how the Impala could use a wash soon. It’s mostly to fill the quiet of the bunker or to distract Dean from other darker thoughts, but it feels nice. When Castiel doesn’t understand a reference Dean remarks, it earns him a small chuckle out of Dean. It makes Castiel feel warm inside– to be slipping back into their old habits.

They stay like this until morning.

\------

Things start to get better, Castiel thinks. The bottles of beer start to decrease drastically, and he notices that Dean does not feel as inclined to rush recklessly into battle every other day.

Dean still rarely smiles, but Castiel hopes that will change with a little more time.

Everything feels more complete with each day that passes that Castiel begins to lower his guard.

For the first time since Sam’s death, Dean goes to visit his grave. He chooses to go alone, which Castiel understands.

When Dean doesn’t return for some time, Castiel starts to worry. He tries to reason with himself that Dean is still grieving and has probably chosen to be left alone to his thoughts, but Castiel cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.

He calls Dean multiple times, texts him, and even asks Bobby or Jody to try to get ahold of him, but to no avail. Without thinking, Castiel grabs the keys to the spare car and exits the bunker.

Logically, he should calm down and wait for Dean to come back. He always does. But something in Castiel sits uncomfortably, and uncertainty swims in his gut.

As soon as he's driving Castiel can feel his heart rate pick up and he starts to run scenarios in his head. Dean was getting better, this couldn't have been happening now, things were returning back to normal.

Castiel internally blames himself. If he were still a fully powered angel he could fly over to Dean in an instant and heal him of any harm.

Now, more human than ever, Castiel can feel the sweat collecting at his forehead, he can feel the underlying fear rolling around in his head. He isn’t even certain he knows where Dean is– if he was even at Sam's resting place, but somehow, Castiel knows. He just knows where Dean will be, and the thought of it makes his guts churn in dread.

He drives faster. He has little regard for his surroundings, he can only pray that Dean will be okay– that he'll just be sitting in the Impala enjoying some of his cassettes, losing track of time. Castiel knows this is a foolish thought.

In the distance, Castiel can see a barn coming into view. The barn where Sam died.

As Castiel draws near, sure enough, he can see the Impala parked onto the side.

As soon as Castiel reaches the entrance, he swings open the car door without a second thought and bolts towards the opening of the barn.

He can smell blood mixed with animal droppings and the overall musty odour the barn emits.

With angel blade in hand, Castiel walks through the darkened rooms.

The barn is crumbling from years of abandonment. There are feces scattered about, and broken glass strewn all over the place, Castiel can even see the bodies of vampires littered throughout the confines of the compass, but none of that catches his attention.

It's so dark that Castiel almost misses him– the crumpled form of Dean Winchester lying at the side of the wall.

Castiel's heart drops as he races towards Dean.

There's so much blood, and Castiel can barely feel anything as the adrenaline kicks in.

He turns Dean over and is met with a pained groan.

There is a knife wound right in the middle of Dean's chest, and Castiel sees his fears flashing to life.

"Cas?" Dean croaks.

It's said so quietly and weakly that it scares Castiel.

Castiel is already trying to stanch the bleeding. He presses two fingers to Dean's forehead and prays so desperately that his grace will flow out and heal him. But nothing happens.

Castiel doesn't realize he's shaking violently until Dean's hand comes up to grasp at his trench coat. As Castiel gazes into Dean's eyes, he sees acceptance. He sees the man lying before him giving up. Castiel holds back tears.

"Why would you do this?" Castiel whispers. His voice comes out shaky and broken. He's trying so hard not to come apart.

"Had to...teach those bastards...a lesson," Dean huffs out. His breathing is ragged and there's more blood pooling underneath him. Castiel can tell that he's barely holding on.

Dean's eyes roll in and out of his head as if he's trying to stay awake. He looks up at Castiel and offers a small smile.

"I'll get...to see Sammy..soon." Dean coughs and sputters and more blood comes out every time he moves.

Castiel can't stop them now. The tears come bursting through the dam at the sound of those words. He’s rarely ever cried before but now he can’t help it. Had he not been enough? Had he not done something right? He had thought Dean was getting better, he thought he was helping him.

Castiel is practically hyperventilating now. His chest aches so much that it's all he feels now. Had this been what Dean had felt?

He can feel a hand resting on his cheek and Castiel looks back down at Dean. He suddenly looks so sad. That previous triumph and acceptance long faded from his eyes.

"Don't cry," Dean whispers. It's so hard to hear him that Castiel has to lean further down. "I'm sorry."

Castiel is crying more now. He feels so small at this very moment– so helpless and pathetic. It’s hard to believe that he was once an all powerful being capable of mass destruction.

"I'm sorry you had to deal….with me….You didn't deserve….any of this." 

Castiel clutches Dean tighter at this.

“Don’t ever say that!” Castiel tries to shout, but it comes out barely comprehensible and strangled. “If I had the chance to do this over again, I’d choose you. It was always you. You taught me what it meant to be human.”

Castiel can’t find his breath as he speaks, but he has to say more, he has so many more things he would like to tell Dean– things he needs to tell him.

“You taught me what it was like to feel love,” he murmurs into Dean’s ear.

Castiel can hear Dean scoff at that. Even bleeding to death, Dean still has the energy to retort back.

“I bet… I was a pretty...crap teacher,” Dean lets out a small chuckle. Castiel drops his head onto Dean’s chest. He can hear the weakened ba-dump of Dean’s heart starting to slow.

He wanted to do so much more with Dean– watch terribly written movies, go out to bars and get drunk, drive around in the Impala. Castiel had hoped he would get to experience more of humanity with Dean at his side, but with every second that passes, that dream seemed to flicker like a candle’s dying flame.

As Dean’s breaths start to slow, Castiel continues to hold him close. Castiel hopes that somewhere, in another universe, he’d be living out his happy ending alongside the Winchesters– alongside Dean.

“I love you,” Castiel whispers softly into Dean’s shirt. “Please don’t go.”

Even after Dean’s body slackens in his grip, Castiel stays like this for a little while longer, holding the man he gave up everything for.

At the final breath, all Castiel can do is cry.


End file.
